Mb. Bj

On his wedding day:

- You will forever be my weird cousin, siapa lagi yang pisah-pisahin nasi satu-satu? Only yesterday we were both in Mangga Besar's living room, eating and watching TV together. You'll find someone. Don't settle, OK. Never settle for less than what you deserve, what you are worth. Move to Australia. You know, fuck all of them, they don't understand you, I do. Just move. When are you going to move?

- I give myself till the end of the year.

- Move end of November.

- Congratulations. You are happy, right?

- Yes. You think I did OK?

- I think, no matter who you choose, in my eyes, noone will ever be good enough for you.

I hope you keep me often in your head, and forever in your heart.

Nyc. 9.26.14 about Bali 9.29.12

Wake up little darling,
You need to breathe
There's no knight in shining armour
Telling you to
Watching you do
Letting you go

Wake up little darling
One second at a time
One word at a time
One wound at a time

Smile.
Breathe.

She said, it will follow you anywhere, everywhere.
And she was right. She is right.
It is here. Now. Next to me. Inside me.
And I can't breathe.

"You look prettier when you're in one of your funks", he said.
"Like a more fragile, daintier version. The feistiness reigned in, but visible just below the surface," he said.

And she thought, "Fuck you. Who the hell needs to be pretty."

Precisely because I know you so well, darling,
So I know how easy this is for you.

How easy it is to leave. Me.

Easiest.

Sometimes it scares me how you know no feeling. Feelingless except for those that are present. Of the moment. Induced.

But then I remember how capable I too, of that.

Because we are sociopaths, darling. You and I. Both of us. Separately and together.

You said: You should go outside. Get a hobby.

I know then that you're the type blessed with nonexistent knowledge of what depression is.
How do you go outside when each breath is a struggle. Like you need to start counting your inhale and exhale - one two, in out. Because sometimes you sink so much that you forget. To breathe.
Or you don't really want to. Breathe.
When you go for days, not eating, wishing that painlessly one day you wake up and no longer are alive.
When you are so afraid to live, but you don't want to die. Yet.
I take my heart and I squeeze it tight, hoping that the tears would come.
But my tears are as numb. Lying below the surface. Until maybe my eyes would explode. And then I would be able to cry. And die. Or not die.

Every turn of the key I would think it's you in repentance.
But that storyline only exists for people who don't know.
How wretched a beautiful life can be.

In pain I lay me down to wake.
In blood I stretch out my hands.

I know You are there.
Only in You.
So show me the way.

Please.

Show me the way.

I think I cut to see whether anything else can cause the same pain that you cause me. Hopefully more. So your pain in me doesn't matter anymore. But despite the tears and the blood, your pain still strangles me. So I keep cutting. I keep cutting.

Fact: it is much better and prettier to be alone, than to be with someone you do not like, or someone who takes more from you than what you are willing to give. But like idiots, we tend to forget this over and over again.

Nyc 3.29.14

I need you, to hold my hands. Both of them, tight, at a time like this. Because I'm scared. Scared that my skin will slowly cave in, sink, and merge with my thick thick blood. So that in the end there will only be a mess. Me a heap on the floor.
And this is why I need you now, to hold my hands. Both my hands. Tight. Don't let go.

Nyc 12.8.13

I have been seeing your name everywhere. On a
magazine cover, one of the neon signs I saw yesterday in
Chelsea, on the pavement right by the yellow putrid snow
(that turned out to be anything but your name but I did think of your
name nonetheless)
People have been saying it too! On the phone,
A man was swearing at his assistant because she called you (or someone
with your name), when the awful man was supposed to have called you himself.
On tv, you were the producer, the director, and three of the actors.
I read one of Sylvia Plath's letters to her dearest of mothers last saturday and I thought,
how yours must be the dearest of names.
I say your name as I eat my kimchi chige for lunch, as if you are Jesus Christ of some sort.
Maybe I will make a pin, of your name, and pin it on my skin, just above my heart
So you will stay.

Nyc 2.14.14 pws